


Such things must be known

by Ark



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types, Thor: Ragnarok - Fandom
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sex, Smut, That Hug Scene, Thor Feels, affirmations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 16:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12635199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ark/pseuds/Ark
Summary: Thor does not hesitate. Thor never hesitates. Two forward steps and he has Loki wrapped in his arms, another step and Thor is crushing him against the wall. The crystal falls from Loki’s grip as he reaches with both hands to find purchase in Thor’s hair.Ah, how he’ll miss those flowing locks, so finely made for gripping. But Loki has always enjoyed a challenge, and he finds there’s still enough of Thor’s hair left to pull. He pulls.





	Such things must be known

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the ancient [Lokasenna](http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/poe/poe10.htm) text, where Loki pisses off absolutely every god (read it all, trust me):
> 
>  _Loki spake:_  
>  "More lightly thou spakest | with Laufey's son,  
> When thou badst me come to thy bed;  
> Such things must be known | if now we two  
> Shall seek our sins to tell."
> 
> For [stuffimgoingtohellfor](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com) and [bewaretheides315](http://bewaretheides315.tumblr.com), my movie-going companions in sin.

Loki snatches the crystal bottle-top from the air and watches a greater electricity pulse behind Thor’s eyes than when he was consumed by lightning. 

Thor does not hesitate. Thor never hesitates. Two forward steps and he has Loki wrapped in his arms, another step and Thor is crushing him against the wall. The crystal falls from Loki’s grip as he reaches with both hands to find purchase in Thor’s hair. 

Ah, how he’ll miss those flowing locks, so finely made for gripping. But Loki has always enjoyed a challenge, and he finds there’s still enough of Thor’s hair left to pull. He pulls.

Thor makes a low sound, not desperate so much as deliberate, and then he has Loki lifted, levered up as though he weighed nothing; to Thor’s iron arms he weighs nothing. Loki’s legs belt Thor’s waist, and Loki does not hide his grin to have regained his favorite seat. 

Thor is not smiling. To anyone else the sight of his handsome features so fiercely composed would inspire alarm, but Loki treasures the intensity of Thor’s determination, the need he does not bother to conceal. This is Thor’s gift to Loki, the kindest way Thor knows to communicate forgiveness: to show how nakedly Thor still desires him, to show that though everything has changed between them once more that this, the heart of who they are, has not. 

It never will, thinks Loki, they cannot be unmade; and so he surges up in Thor’s arms and kisses Thor’s mouth. Thor kisses back with an insistent slide of his tongue, and when his teeth catch on Loki’s lip, Loki knows that this first bout after so long will not be gentle. 

Thor is capable, even inclined, to softness with his bed-partners, afraid of the damage his strength can inflict; but he is better made for battle, for claiming, for conquering, and Loki is the field best built to receive him. This time the noise that escapes is from Loki, and this time its timbre is desperate.

Thor raises both fair eyebrows, and he twists his fingers into a fist on Loki’s collar. Tugs. It would be a simple motion for Thor to tear apart the leather, but Thor wants the satisfaction of seeing Loki submit. Loki supposes that today Thor has earned it, and he tilts his head, waits. He wants this command.

“Make this gone,” says Thor, and Loki obliges, the leather melting in Thor’s grip and trailing away like so much water. Thor nods, approving. He does not look at the bare space between them, where Loki is already hard and straining for him, save for the briefest flicker of a glance. “Now, me,” says Thor.

Loki bites his lip, closes and opens his eyes. A trickier work of concentration, to undo Thor’s garments with his mind: but Loki has done this so many times before that the spell soon springs back like second nature. 

He opens his eyes because he loves to watch this part, Thor undressed and revealed to him by invisible hands of Loki’s making. Thor’s body, better carved than Asgard’s statues of beaten gold, carefully uncovered, while Thor does nothing as it happens save study Loki’s face. When they were young Thor used to stare at him working magic with the same intensity, fascinated, as though by watching he could divine how it was done.

Loki is in no mood to wait or tease now, and he strips Thor with such speed that Thor laughs; but by the time Thor is bared he has stopped laughing. He hauls Loki higher, crowds him against the cool surface of the wall, drops his head and tongues, then bites into the shallow dip of Loki’s neck. No, Loki knows, Thor will not be gentle now. It is well, for Loki wants nothing of gentleness.

“I yield,” Loki says.

It is Thor’s favorite phrase from him, first pursued and won a thousand years ago, and Thor smiles for a heartbeat against the skin of Loki’s shoulder.

Then he raises his head so that they can see each other as Thor lines up his cock and thrusts so hard and deep that Loki thinks, wildly, that they will breach through the metal skin of the ship and be cast into space. 

Thor’s cock is enormous, long and thick and proud as the rest of him, and it is, damn it all, still Loki’s best-loved cock in nine realms and after considerable amounts of searching and experimentation to prove otherwise. 

Loki’s fingernails are like claws, scraping down from Thor’s hair to sink into his shoulders, which are infinitely broad; and though Loki has yielded he does not stay as such, riding back on Thor’s hips to take more of him, opening his mouth to accept the tongue Thor thrusts there with the same insistent urgency as his cock. Loki was right, he thinks, to have slicked himself before even seeking Thor’s chamber, though it had felt like hubris then.

The wall is dented, but holds, as Thor drives inside him with a fearsome possessiveness that Loki has missed as much—possibly even more—than his glorious cock. With every savage turn of his hips, with every inch reclaimed, Thor is saying, repeating: You are mine, mine, mine; he might be speaking it aloud or not, it hardly matters. 

When they are joined Loki has ever been able to hear Thor’s thoughts, and Thor his. Thor is filling Loki’s mind as purposefully as he fills Loki’s body. Mine, mine, mine, drumming, repeating it with such frequency that finally, Loki tears his mouth from Thor’s—

“Yours,” he pants, voice ragged, saying it like Thor wants him to, an old oath reaffirmed. “Yours, _damn_ you, can you doubt it now?”

Thor’s remaining eye, bolt-blue, is fixed on Loki’s pursed lips. Loki would see Hela torn apart anew, and slowly, for daring to mar Thor’s perfection, but Loki also did not lie: the bronze patch over Thor’s lost eye suits him, and he wears the scars of that battle with the pride of the warrior that he is above all else. 

That Thor is above all other things than this, the forge of them, the coupling act that they were born and raised to play. Thor’s hand moves from its handle on Loki’s leg to run his thumb across Loki’s lips; his hand grasps Loki’s chin, firm, so that he cannot turn away.

“You let me think that you were dead,” Thor says, and then he thrusts so insistently within Loki that it is possible he has never been buried so far. “I would have torn the _sun_ apart with my hands to have you back.”

Loki cannot turn away; he cannot apologize; for prized torturous moments while Thor fucks him furiously, waiting, he can say nothing at all. 

At last, Loki says, “Judge me now, find me wanting, pass a sentence. You must punish me. I beg for your justice.” He licks his lips. Thor had almost bitten through, and they are tender. Loki gathers breath.

All his life Loki knew he would one day speak these words, struggled with their bittersweet flavor, but now that they are true and on his tongue, they roll off with ease, without mockery: “My King.”

To his surprise, Thor stills. He holds himself in Loki and holds them in place. “Loki,” he says. “That sentence has already been handed down.”

Loki opens his mouth, but cannot respond because Thor drops to his knees all at once, an unexpected motion, Loki secure in his arms. Thor lays him across the floor, Thor is held between his thighs and has moved them both without sliding free, turned them into one ungainly body. 

Thor props up on a massive arm and pulls back, nearly pulls out but does not, and this time the thrust back inside is so slow and terrible in its teasing that Loki actually groans. Worse to have the mere suggestion of Thor than to take all of his rigorous passion; with just a taste Loki is left starving. 

“You delivered the verdict yourself, just now,” Thor is saying. “You are mine. You are sworn to me, you serve me. You will not leave. Your place is by my side.”

Loki blinks up at Thor, disbelieving, wondering if Thor for once is the one playing at mischief, if he will throw his head back now to see how Loki’s expression changes, yearns, and laugh and laugh at how predictable Loki has revealed himself to be, how weak. 

But Thor does not laugh. Thor has never been prone to trickery. Thor turns his hips, moves into him with a sudden exquisite rhythm that slakes Loki’s aching thirst. Thor gathers up Loki’s dark hair in his hand and threads his fingers through it. 

“That is your punishment,” pronounces Thor, “for I know I am not easy to bear. Nor is the shared weight of a crown. But I will not rule without you. I cannot.” Because Thor is no mortal man his cock has only grown harder and heavier and more insistent despite all their strenuous activity, and now with every thrust he is forwarding his claim. “I shall not lack you again.”

Loki spreads his legs to draw Thor yet further, runs his hand down Thor’s back, so that he can feel the clench and play of muscles beneath Thor’s skin. “You already know my answer,” he says, for in his mind there is only the word _yes_ , repeated and repeated. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. “Yet how can my promises hold currency with you?” 

To his surprise, Thor does not pause to consider this. Thor, reborn in lightning, bringer of destruction, is a version of himself Loki does not yet know like the back of his hand. This Thor has the capacity to astonish him. 

“They do not, as such,” Thor admits. “Betray me, as you will, and you will; stab me in the back, and I will turn so that you have better reach. Only say, when all our games are done, that you will rejoin me here,” and for the first time since they began anew Thor palms down his stomach and seizes onto Loki’s cock, strokes him, “and I care not.”

Loki’s eyelids flutter shut. He arches up into the contact, wanton, chases the sensation, demands more, ever more, and Thor relents, fists his cock tight and sure and just as Loki had taught him, a hundred thousand years before or maybe just in a long-ago yesterday. He makes Thor wrench the promise out of him, Thor’s swiveled hips and cleaving cock relentless, until finally Loki spills like an explosion and gasps, “I swear -- I swear it. I’ll not leave. I never will.”

Thor kisses him; and Loki thinks, _For what would I be without you?_ and Thor thinks back, _There is no answer for what cannot be._

He reaches for Thor in the throes of the kind of ecstasy only Thor can spark -- damn him, bless him, the feelings where Thor is concerned that he has held since they were children, and long after -- and he tries to bring Thor along with him. Uses every trick that had once set Thor alight. Loki knows many tricks. 

But Thor simply rocks into him while Loki cries out, Thor tightens his hold on Loki’s cock in victory and keeps going long after Loki is spent. When Loki, pleasure-muddled and hazy-headed, loose-limbed, looks at him dazedly, Thor is grinning. 

“And what of your own pleasure?” Loki demands. “Do you intend to keep me like this all night?”

Thor leans down, brushes his lips over Loki’s, does not slow or seem to tire of fucking him. Takes some time, minutes, perhaps an hour, perhaps three, before he deigns to respond. 

“My--” and only then does Thor pause, seems to scan through a number of titles to call him. Brother is not quite right. Friend is not true. Lover does not begin to encompass what they are. Consort is too official, and both of them have always thrown off rules and expectations. Loki watches and listens as Thor’s mind plows past many words, many names for what Loki is. So many that Loki has never imagined himself to be.

“My own,” Thor says at the last. “We have a performance to give to our people first, to assure them of our solidarity and strength.” He moves within Loki then with the conviction and the unceasing certainty of the tides. “But know, thereafter, that I intend to keep you like this forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr,](http://et-in-arkadia.tumblr.com) and am embracing my newfound citizenship in _Thor: Ragnarok_ trashville. Join me.


End file.
